This post is going to be completely devoid of eye candy because my camera and I are in talks. These talks go something like this.
Me: I would sure like to take a picture of such-and-such adorable moment right now.
Camera: Sorry. I need the little plastic door that seals my battery compartment in order to function reliably.
Me: But I've looked and looked for that dumb little part after it flew off in the dark the other night. Come on. Buck up.
Camera: Sorry. It's tough to be you.
I think we may require counseling. Please send help. In fact, you can scribble your counsel on the back of an $800 Costco gift card, with which I will purchase a BRAND NEW digital SLR camera that will launch me into a whole new era of blogging with aesthetic appeal. I'd call that a win-win, wouldn't you?
So, speaking of cameras, you may already know that we were on TV the other night. At 6:05 p.m., I was lying prostrate on my bed with shower-damp hair, zero makeup, and about 85% catatonic after a day of herding seven boys through Cub Scout camp. The phone rang. It was a super nice reporter from KEYE. He'd already interviewed Bethany, our lifeguard friend, and wondered if I would comment. The story was going to air at 10:00 that night. Could he visit our home in thirty minutes?
Fully awake now, I told him that my [sensitive, traumatized] children may not want to hear their story discussed and that I would meet him outside my house and make my remarks privately. No problem, he said.
I dutifully informed the children that a man from the TV station was coming to chat with me a little about our story, in case they happened to dash outside during the interview. I watched them closely for signs of color draining from their faces.
"Really??? You mean WE GET TO BE ON TV?! CAN I TALK TO HIM?!?!?" Ian and Caroline both demanded.
On a completely unrelated and straight-faced note, I just finished reading Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet. Have you read it? Despite my love for historical fiction, I don't think I'd ever read a novel set on the American home front during World War II that focuses specifically on the relocation and internment of Japanese Americans. The story, which also looks at what it might have been like to be Chinese during that time, is appropriate both bitter and sweet. It manages to be disturbing without being gritty or graphic, tender without being cloying, and celebrates the ultimate triumph of pure, unselfish love. Four stars.